


As Things Are

by scatter



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Community: badbadbathhouse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 12:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatter/pseuds/scatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Naoto discovers that Souji may not hate her, but he doesn't really care for her either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Things Are

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at the Persona 4 Kink Meme: _Post-True Ending, in a world in which inconvenient truths are exposed, casual lies are gone, and the truth can not be hidden..._
> 
> _And the truth is, Souji doesn't particularly care for all his friends. He doesn't hate them by any means, but when it comes down to it he needed the social links to boost power inside the TV and solve the mystery (as according to Igor)._
> 
> _It was a quid pro quo: he helped people past their problems, and they helped him solve the case. And now that the case is over-_

Souji has never been one to call people (to call her at least; later, she'll look back and wonder if he did so with others), but in January, he stops taking her calls almost completely, stops coming to her and asking to spend the day together.

Naoto would like to say she saw it coming, would like to defend her deductive and observational skills, but if the murder case has taught her anything it's that one should not deny themselves the truth and the truth is that this comes as a shock.

She confronts the problem directly, seeks him out and finds him in a cluster of friends (she lists their names in her head – not her, not her – notes the easy way he stands with them, and forces herself to stop, chalks the hyperawareness up as nothing more than a job habit). Rather than make a scene, she waits to be noticed. He doesn't make her wait long, pulls away with a glance back as though he can feel her eyes on his neck and approaches her without hesitation.

"You've been avoiding me," she says pointedly.

To his credit, he doesn't look away from her when he says, "We should take this somewhere more private."

The streets around them are relatively empty but she follows him to a deserted stretch of bank along the river, an unpleasant sourness already building in the back of her throat. The sun is bright in the sky and the air crisp enough for blood to rush to her cheeks. Their only companions now are a few stray cats that twine around Souji's legs before wandering some distance away.

The silence between them is uneasy, although she suspects only she feels the tension. "You didn't deny my accusation."

"I wonder…" His eyes are on the river, where the sunlight glints off the water bright enough to hurt. "I wonder if avoid is the right word."

Her patience for particulars and word games is thin. "Then what would you call it?"

Now he meets her gaze again, and his eyes are not unkind, contrasting the bluntness of his words. "I don't have the urge to spend time with you anymore. I'm not interested in it."

"Ah." She lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "And your way of informing me of this was to ignore me completely."

"I thought it might work better that way, avoid any awkwardness. I knew you'd pick up on the signals, and I was right, wasn't I, or you wouldn't be here now." When she doesn't respond, he continues, "If this bothers you now, I don't think it will in a few months."

"Because, of course, you know me so well."

He lowers his eyes, taking the observation in the manner intended, but it lacks sufficient bite because it's the truth. He does know her well. Their friendship, his insights, his advice and support, showed her that.

But then, it seems there was no friendship, at least not at the level she had assumed, otherwise he would not be willing to simply walk away from it.

Her hands are oddly dry as she speaks and her mind strangely empty, though the words and thoughts come easily enough. "Then our relationship…"

"You helped me with the case. In return, I saw that I could help you with some of your problems."

"A tidy arrangement." She distinctly remembers him telling her that their connection strengthened his Persona and even as the thought passes through her mind, the implications of it become clear in a way she had never managed to see before. Now, the obviousness of it makes her wonder how she never noticed. "I had thought…"

She falters and he fills the silence smoothly. "Sometimes people read into something hoping to find a meaning that's not there." For the first time, his voice takes on a deliberate note of kindness, "We have something that can't be broken, Naoto, but I never promised more than that. I should have handled this better instead of making you come to me."

She turns her gaze to the water and waits to feel anger but all that comes is a sense of disappointment and perhaps a faint admiration for his ability to fool her.

It would have been interesting to match wits with him, had he been the killer.

She tugs her hat lower, shading her eyes, and angles her body away. "I see. If you don't mind…"

He leaves without apology or platitudes, for which she's grateful. She stays on the bank watching the river, thinking about nothing specific, and the sunlight glinting off the water makes her vision blur.

She helps him bring the case to its end weeks later, fights Izanami, and sees him off at the train station with the others because, for all he's told her, only a handful of people have had more impact on her life. If anyone notices her sendoff is a touch too formal, they don't comment on it, and he is careful to give it no special attention.

She cannot help but examine the faces of those around her and wonder if anyone else has been told the same news, had their view of reality so drastically shaken. If so, they've chosen to keep it to themselves much like she has, feeling no need to mention what she considers a private matter to those not involved. She thinks she sees something strained in Yukiko's face, a stiffness in Kanji's shoulders, but perhaps she's simply projecting, wanting to find comfort in something that's not there. There are a dozen reasons for everyone to be uncomfortable; this is an emotional moment.

The train pulls away to shouts and tearful faces. The others run to keep up with it and Naoto finds herself joining them, her body moving without thought. It's only now that he's out of reach that emotion rushes forward and she wants to yell at him, to hurl some useless insult, to rage that for all his searching of the truth he'd allowed himself to play the role of deceiver.

And yet, even as these urges run through her, she knows the benefits – the case is solved, the world inside the TV cleared, and she has gained a new insight about herself that she would trade for nothing. Part of her whispers it's a fair trade, his actions something she could admire for their effectiveness, and that this will be just another something he's given to her that will help her grow, but the knowledge doesn’t stop the sudden ache in her chest or the burning behind her eyes. She's simultaneously relieved and devastated by the idea that she may never see him again.

Months later, she looks up at her copy of the group photo they'd all taken that day, tacked to the wall of her bedroom. Another person might have thrown it out, but it's the only picture she has of herself with the entire team and denying his existence would only hurt her.

She opens her phone and finds his number (she has a few new text messages and even after knowing her friends for months she feels some surprise at seeing a note unrelated to work). She deletes it with no ill feelings, no hesitation, and, unlike her other attempts, no thoughts as to when he had done the same.

And then she checks her messages and goes to spend the day – somehow brighter than it was a moment ago – with Rise and Kanji, who greet her with unfeigned smiles and interest.


End file.
